


Correspondence

by Cartography



Category: Dragonlance - Margaret Weis & Tracy Hickman
Genre: Dark Magic, Gen, Magic-Users
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-10
Updated: 2014-08-11
Packaged: 2018-02-12 14:02:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,488
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2112687
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cartography/pseuds/Cartography
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Raistlin dithers over answering his mail.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. In the sorting office

The envelope, upon first examination, yielded little information. The parchment was typical, clearly postmarked to one Raistlin Majere, underscored by Tower of High Sorcery, Palanthas. The handwriting (precise, elegant) was unfamiliar. A return address was notably absent.

Beneath the curious letter were several envelopes bearing Caramon’s easily-legible penmanship as well as what was, undoubtedly, yet another in the series of unsigned pleas from the city’s planning office regarding the horrific nature of the Shoikan Grove. Raistlin had casually ignored their first three letters.

Someone’s foot scuffed against the hardwood floor, returning his attention to present surroundings. With a nod to the clerk, who’d barely moved a muscle since the mage had arrived some moments prior, he gathered his letters and departed.

The remaining occupants of the building released a collective sigh of relief. Encountering the cursed tower’s new keeper was a matter of some dread for the occupants of Palanthas, and yet little had changed about the city since his coming. Most were preoccupied with efforts to brush away any remaining evidence of the war. Hair-raising mages were of little concern, up until they took the time to walk amongst polite company and collect their mail.

Even so, the shadow had passed. Normal office activities quickly resumed behind the sorting desk.


	2. Eradicating the past

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A tower filled with dust and debris.

Three days slipped by. Raistlin’s letters remained unopened and forgotten on the corner of a desk. The desk was one of many that lined the walls and blocked the shelves of the tower’s central study. He’d set the letters down shortly after returning from his trip into Palanthas. They weren’t a priority, or so he told himself, surrounded once more by the walls of his tower. Though he’d taken up residence over a month ago, his laundry-list of tasks continued to stack impossibly high. Reclaiming each of the tower’s rooms from over a century’s worth of neglect and decay was proving a terribly slow process. Seeing Caramon’s ever-practical handwriting on the outside of the envelopes only served to remind him that this was, again, another task he needed to do entirely on his own.

Though the hour was grew late, Raistlin believed it was finally time to resurrect the study. He wanted to free the books from behind their ancient protective spells. Realistically, he knew this was ambitious for a single night's work. Prior to abandoning the tower, the texts—far too numerous for the magi to flee with—had been placed beneath magical barriers to ward off the effects of time, dust, and vermin. These spells remained, silent sentinels from a time when the tower had been a place of learning, similar to the towers at the heart of the roving Forest of Wayreth.

Unlike Wayreth, however; this tower had conspicuously stood just shy of the center ring of Palanthas, drawing the ire of the Kingpriest. In a panic, its residents had used the study’s desks and tables to blockade the shelves, knowing full well their simple protective spells wouldn’t be enough to stop the priests of Paladine from ransacking the place.

Fearing such destruction, yet furious at the magi within the sister tower of Wayreth for refusing to answer their pleas for aid, a mage of the black robes devised a curse to protect the tower and its contents from any who’d dare trespass—priest or mage alike. Terrified by his sincerity, those who’d called the tower home gathered what few of their belongings they could carry and fled even as Rannoch barricaded himself in the upper levels. Fury and anger personified, the Shoikan Grove rose up at Rannoch’s call, a writhing and vicious darkness willing to devour any who approached, save one.

All the tower had once been ended with Rannoch’s curse. The gates remained sealed for over a century, the rooms silent, the texts coveted by the magi at Wayreth yet unattainable to all but Raistlin Majere, who stood in quiet contemplation of the problem currently posed by the barricade of desks.

Presently, they were blocking half a wall’s worth of bookshelves. The students of long ago had stacked many top to top. For all Raistlin knew, Rannoch had once stood in this very spot, observing the panic and believing it foolish.

 _Rannoch was a fool, if a timely one_ whispered the ever-present voice, lurking in the depths and recesses of Raistlin’s mind. _Soon, my young mage, you and I will need this room. Further delay will only hinder matters._

Raistlin, irritated by the truth of the latter statement, maintained his silence. Moments passed, the young mage ordering his thoughts by contemplating the length and width of the study and—perhaps satisfied at this seeming acquiescence to his wishes, the elder mage withdrew to conserve his strength for some future battle of wills. Feeling the presence of the lich recede, Raistlin stretched his arms out to release the tension in his shoulders. “A problem,” he intoned softly, gazing at the desks but considering his entirely unwanted guest. Distracted, he crossed the room and lifted the stack of correspondence with the intent of placing it elsewhere. His brother’s handwriting snagged his attention and, somewhat against his will, he found his eyes wandering over the easily legible letters postmarking the envelope, even in the current dim light of the room. The mysterious one, lacking a return address, briefly held his interest as well—long enough that the parchment faded and crinkled while he considered the words.

"Another problem," Raistlin sighed, tiredly looking up to the room’s ceiling (lost in darkness) and letting the stack of letters fall from his fingers. "Ever a problem."

Leaving the letters scattered on the floor, he returned his attention to the blockade of desks and tried to remember which spell might aid in their removal. As it was summer, he had little need of kindling—another option would surely be needed.


	3. A letter gets opened

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tea for one, a letter gets read

Morning’s gray light filtered into a newly-emptied study. Raistlin, standing in the center, let his arms settle back to his sides. A few piles of shavings gave evidence to where the clutter of hastily stacked desks had once stood. The air, though still, carried some of the dust from his night’s work. It tickled at the back of his throat, threatening to send him into a coughing spell. Hoping to avoid setting one off, he paced across the empty chamber and stooped to gather up his scattered correspondence. Letters in hand, he straightened to give the study a final cursory glance. The protective spells remained over the books, but that was a project for later in the day, preferably after he’d rested.

Tea was, in the moment, becoming a necessity.

* * *

Yet again, the letters ended up tossed across the nearest surface. Raistlin, kettle in hand, set about making tea. Here, below tree level, the tower remained dark. The only illumination came from his staff, propped at the edge of the kitchen’s open arch of an entryway. Outside, the Shoikan Grove prevented all light from reaching the tower’s windows. Dark ivy and twisted limbs obscured the panes.

The kitchen, vast for the needs of a single mage, was one of the first areas of the tower Raistlin had set about to clean. It had, since then, become something of a refuge from the dust and grime awaiting him throughout the rest of the tower. Here, at least, the counters were scoured to dark luminosity and the larder—having been emptied of its prior indistinguishable contents—contained two small baskets from the market. A few loaves of bread, held in suspension, occupied the baskets along with jars of berry preserve and several sachets filled with dried tea leaves.

Raistlin’s unwanted guest hadn’t been impressed. Undeterred, Raistlin continued to stock the larder as he chose, even if the lich was of the opinion that such items would fail to provide appropriate sustenance for the work that needed to be done.

For now, the lich maintained his silence. Raistlin, hearing the kettle approach a boil, lifted it free of its grate to pour over the loose leaves in the bottom of his ceramic mug. He’d found the ingredients to replenish his supply for this particular tea easily enough—Palanthas boasted of attracting merchants from the world over—and yet, even with the finest ingredients at his fingertips, the taste failed to approach Caramon’s own unique way of brewing it.

Feeling the beginnings of irritation, Raistlin lifted the tea and the letter from the city’s commissioner. A quill and a pot of ink awaited him in one of the small alcoves where, once, students of the tower had taken their meals. A slight gesture caused a warm glow to emanate from the orb suspended above the table, enough light to comfortably read by. Here, Raistlin settled and opened the letter before leaning back with his mug of tea to read the parchment within.

_To Whom It May Concern,_

_As you well know, the tower you now occupy has stood above our fair city of Palanthas for time immeasurable. Generations have feared the dark shroud of the so-titled Shoikan Grove. We, here at the city’s commissioning office, would offer you no small measure of compensation for any attempt made to tame said grove, as it effectively blocks what could, in time, be restored to a prosperous district within our city’s walls._

_If you have any questions regarding the aforementioned compensation, please respond to the address noted on the outside of this letter or visit us in the city’s commissioning office. Please take note of our office hours prior to visitation._

_Thank you for your time and, hopefully, your understanding in this matter,_

_Palanthian City Commissioning, Reality, and Property Services_

Closing his eyes, Raistlin allowed the letter to slip from the crook of his fingers. With his left, he held the mug of hot tea against his chest. The heat provided comfort in the face of the ever-present chill within the tower’s walls.

"Tame the grove, mm?"

Suddenly inspired, he sat up and returned the mug to the table. Snatching the inkwell, quill, blotter and a fresh piece of parchment, he set to work on a reply.


	4. A letter containing several falsehoods

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The city's planning office is in for a shock.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unedited, unrevised.

_My dearest councilmen and councilwomen,_

_On the outset, please allow me to extend my sincerest apologies for failing to reply to your earlier letters. As I am sure you can imagine, reclaiming the Tower of High Sorcery here in Palanthas has been quite a tax on my strength. Even now the insidious Shoikan Grove, so useful in preventing unwanted visitors, strains against the magic imbued within the walls of the tower. I discovered many of the windows on the lower levels shattered, branches and limbs having forced themselves within the confines of the walls. I fear my attempts to control the grove are minimal at best; it is ravenous, hungry for life, indeed the very blood of any who'd dare venture too close._

Raistlin paused to consider the words on the parchment. "Such horseshit. I wonder if.." he tapped the end of the feathered quill against the bridge of his nose before re-inking the tip. 

_The libraries within the tower are vast, though my desperation has aided me in some respects. I've located a text that details the creation of such groves and forests. Within the pages I've discovered the processes by which a mage might rend the veil between our world and those where such horrific growths and creatures originate. My studies have lead me to believe that, with focused magical energy--my own, of course--from within the tower as well as no small force of will from outside, the grove may respond and begin to recede._

_Believe me when I say the task I am about to detail is not for the faint of heart.._

_On both Midsummer's Eve and Midwinter's Eve, three citizens born of Palanthas with complicit knowledge of the city's districts, history, and housing authorities must approach the Shoikan Grove in triangulation. There is no need to approach beyond the point of fearful endurance; the presence of the three in such formation will be enough. The three must each bring a shallow copper bowl, a small yet sharp blade, and an onyx viper. Obtaining the vipers can be done at the Mageware shop within the market district. Deceased vipers will suffice, but their death must not exceed three days from the point of their acquisition._

_Components in hand, these volunteers (and they must be volunteers of vested interest) must stand in triangulation of the Shoikan Grove and, at sundown, shed their garments. Magic such as this requires the utmost sincerity and personal fortitude. Stand in silence until the city's bells begin to toll out the eve's longest hour. At the first toll, stoop to place the copper bowl on the ground. On the second toll, coil the onyx viper within the dish. On the third, create a small puncture on your palm or fingertip in order to carefully drip blood over the corpse of the onyx viper. On the fourth, intone "from darkness you rose." On the fifth "in darkness you remain." On the sixth "may light pierce your shadows." On the seventh "may the dawn wilt your leaves." On the eighth "may you tremble beneath the noonday sun." On the ninth "recede, darkness, on this hallowed night." On the tenth "recede, darkness, in measurable scale. On the eleventh "return Palanthas to her former beauty." On the twelfth, and this is the most important step! "Darkness, foul and wrong, begone!"_

_Faced with such conviction, as well as my own within the walls of the tower, the Shoikan Grove--according to my text, should recede approximately five centimeters in circumference each Yule Welcoming._

_I welcome your aid in this weighty undertaking._

_Sincerely,  
Raistlin Majere_

Satisfied, Raistlin set his quill over the lid of the inkpot and sipped at his tea, gone tepid, while waiting for the ink to dry. He could only imagine the din that would surely take place in the city's planning office. A smile rose, unbidden, at the thought. 

Another thought, equally amusing, caused him to shift in his seat and inquire after one of the tower's guardians. Promptly, two glowing orbs--the eyes of the creature--appeared by his side. "Master?" came the inquiry, sibilant, barely more than a whisper. 

"Alert me if, on the night of Midsummer or Midwinter, any citizens of Palanthas approach the exterior of the Shoikan Grove. I've.. rather an interest, if they should." 

The guardian, of polar disinterest in parchment and other such mortal artifacts, merely blinked in acquiescence before inquiring "is that all, Master?" 

"Yes. Return to your duties." 

The two orbs disappeared, leaving Raistlin alone at the table. His amusement, though bright in moments prior, began to fade in the face of exhaustion from his night's work. His tea, now little more than dregs, had gone cold. Leaving the mug and the letter on the table, he rose to collect his staff and retire to his quarters for several hours of much-needed sleep.


End file.
